Page 7 of Drowned By the Dreadnought

For long, horrible moments, he doesn’t move, caging me in wet darkness, until my mania recedes and I realize he prevents the water from getting in my face.

“Are you calm now?”

The derision in his tone curdles my empty stomach. Thirst roars through me and the only thing stopping me from slurping the water off the floor is his massive hand shielding my face. I don’t dare move for fear of the spray dousing me again.

His grip gentles on my ankles. My breasts ache as I heave against the floor. He’s massive. Heavy. Strong. I don’t stand a chance against him.

His anger emanates clearly in his silence.

“Are you done?” he snarls.

I take a steadying breath and sputter as water sneaks into my mouth.

“Y-yes. I’m calm,” I lie.

“Good. Stop the theatrics. It makes you look pathetic, and I don’t buy it. I never will.”

I scrunch my brows, not understanding his words or the reason behind them. My bruised face throbs at the movement.

“You’re here for only two reasons,” he says as he leans down, pulling my legs so my hipbones grind against the floor and adding more weight to the side of my head.

“To pay your father’s debts and appease my anger,” he snarls against my ear.

Chills run down my spine before a wave of heat blasts through me as his tongue ghosts up my earlobe.

“What do—”

“I didn’t give you permission to speak, so shut your mouth,” he growls.

Tears burn the back of my eyes as my heart splinters.

In all the years I yearned for him, I never thought our reunion would break me, but his tone hurts worse than my father’s fists.

He sits up and releases my legs to pull something from his belt. Without moving his hand from my face, he tugs my shirt out from under him and pulls it tight over my chest before slicing the fabric from my nape to the bottom hem with his knife.

Shame spears through me at the thought of him seeing my scarred and bruised back, but he doesn’t peel the material away from my flesh. He moves so fast I don’t have time to react, rolling me over and pinning me on my back with my arms trapped at my sides, never once lifting his hand from my face. My neck aches from the odd angle, but I dare not move as his low rumble melts the marrow of my bones.

He palms my breast through my wet shirt.

I should hate it, but my nerves electrify. He’s been nothing but cruel since I bounced off his chest, but in all my dreams, I never imagined he’d grow to be so big and strong. I gasp and writhe as he kneads my flesh and pinches my nipple before shifting to my other breast. A spark grows into flames as the pheromones wafting from his hand build in the tiny space around my face. My mouth waters. I’m helpless against the familiar hints of the boy I loved with all my heart embedded into rich alpha musk.

“Do you know what your father owed me, little mouse?”

I can’t think beyond the delicious, rough ministrations of his thick fingers.

“Years of pain and anguish.”

He tweaks my nipple. I yelp at the sting.

“Stop, wait, I—”

He snarls and slides me over the floor until he straddles my shoulders. Water rains down on my face, but the unmistakable sound of his zipper lowering pierces through my struggle.

“You must be ready for your first taste of me, since you can’t keep your mouth shut,” he snarls.

I push against his butt and buck my hips, but he doesn’t budge. When he shifts his weight, I clench my teeth together and strain my neck to tuck my face against his knee.

“Open your mouth, little mouse, before I add another hole to your punishment.”

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